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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25711882">Fever Dream</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenshineKkaebsong/pseuds/SenshineKkaebsong'>SenshineKkaebsong</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Billy Hargrove is Soft for Steve, Fate &amp; Destiny, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harringrove, I'm soft for Billy calling Steve baby, M/M, Steve Harrington Is a Mess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:49:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25711882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenshineKkaebsong/pseuds/SenshineKkaebsong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Um, this might seem weird," he clears his throat, shifts his gaze from his toes to the dresser in the far corner that holds an impressive amount of framed photos of Billy and Max, Max and Lucas, the other kids (even though they aren’t kids anymore), and people he doesn't recognise who might be Billy’s work friends. There’s a couple of Billy and Steve too, candid moments that he remembers with stunning clarity. "What exactly happened last night?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>119</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fever Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Billy's face is a distorted outline hovering in and out of his line of sight. Steve blinks hard and then again to dispel the blurry vision before him. Is he asleep? Is this one of those creepy out of body experiences Dustin mentioned a couple days ago during his scheduled nerd rant while having coffee and paninis at that shitty hipster cafe downtown, trying his damndest to drown out his weirdly deep adult voice with the crappy lo-fi track playing in the background? He doesn't know and that worries him for several reasons. His body feels like lead, heavy and uncooperative, burning in a way that reminds him of being eight and terribly sick with the flu. His mother had cancelled her trip to Chicago to stay and tend to him. She'd even cooked him soup. That was the last time. After that, he was left in the capable hands of nannies hired by his father's primary secretary, the long-time hag that he definitely wasn't fucking, the only one his mother had no issue leaving her husband alone with. Even when nanny Gretta had called after Steve continuously pleaded her to, snot and tears creating ugly tracks down his blotchy fever-worn face, his mother had simply instructed her to take him to the doctor. She was in Indianapolis that week and thought it too cumbersome to drive the short distance back to Hawkins for her only son. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He whines, high and pitiful, a broken sound that reverts him back to his childhood self yet again, waiting for his parents to show up on this thirteenth birthday and knowing deep down that they weren't fucking coming. God, Steve is an idiot and now he's stuck in a semi-dreamlike state, unable to make sense of why he can smell Billy's stupid cologne and hear the low rumble of the Camaro's engine and see the outline of golden curls but not his face, not his expression or environment or even his own body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harrington, man, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Oh, and there's Billy's voice now, pitched low and slathered in irritation and mild alarm. His vision dips to black before it slowly returns, like his head was jostled. He laughs, or at least he does in his mind, because fuck all if he even knows how to answer. His body feels like it's evaporating right out of his skin, some of the steam getting trapped and boiling his innards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, jesus fuck." Billy's voice huffs. "Come on, amigo." Steve's vision swims again but the darkness doesn't fade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his eyes finally peel open, it's because he was roused by the muted cacophony of chirping and twittering birds. His </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> moment is magnified when he's met with an endless plane of golden smooth skin stretched tight over hard muscles, a familiar scent embedded in it from where his nose - and mouth, what in the everloving fuck? - is plastered to Billy's shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Morning sunshine." Billy greets. The room they're in is painted soft blue with warm, dark furniture and endless sunlight pouring in through coverless glass windows. It must be well into the day and Billy is just casually lying on the bed in nothing but tight, black Calvin's and reading a book while Steve uses him as a human body pillow. He finally gets his brain functioning enough to dislodge his mouth from Billy's shoulder like the goddamn leech he'd been impersonating. There's a slight indentation in his skin where Steve's two front teeth had been gently pressing. Removing his leg and arm that had been curled around the man is a task. Billy's warmth settled something within him. The feeling of a solid body against his made him feel less alone, more complete. Still, he can't possibly inconvenience the younger any further. He rolls over to where the sheets are cool from disuse but warmed from the sun and realises he has a fuckton of space on his side of the bed and he'd pushed Billy to the very edge. Great, what a grade-A asshole move, Steve Harrington. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve's in a similar state of undress and he quickly takes stock of his body for any bruises or pain that comes with being twenty-five which </span>
  <em>
    <span>'old Steve, you're fucking ancient, dude', 'Shut the fuck up, Dustin'</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He comes up with nothing. Steve feels fine. In fact, he's never felt more clarity in his life and isn't that something. "Um, this might seem weird," he clears his throat, shifts his gaze from his toes to the dresser in the far corner that holds an impressive amount of framed photos of Billy and Max, Max and Lucas, the other kids (even though they aren’t kids anymore), and people he doesn't recognise who might be Billy’s work friends. There’s a couple of Billy and Steve too, candid moments that he remembers with stunning clarity. Billy doesn't put down his book, doesn't turn to look at him. He simply flips the page and arches a brow like Steve's on borrowed time. God, the asshole. "What exactly happened last night?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs. "You don't remember." It's a statement, filled with a sort of mocking wonder that makes Steve feel dumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve bristles and grits his teeth. "Obviously not or else I wouldn't be asking."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence envelops the room save for the bird songs outside the window, the whirring of the air con and Billy unconsciously thumbing the edge of the page. Eventually, he heaves a long-suffering sigh and closes the novel, carefully setting it down on the nightstand. Bright azure eyes find mocha brown ones. "You really don't remember what happened?" This time, there's no condescension in his tone, brows pinched and mouth set firm. Steve’s never been to Billy’s place despite them residing in the same neighbourhood. They’re friends now, best friends almost, definitely closer than they had been back in bumfuck Hawkins, but not close enough that he’s seen the intimate spaces Billy’s carved out for himself and has called home. Every time they meet up, it’s always at one of the kids’ places or somewhere on the outside. If he’s being honest, it’s exactly what he’d imagined it would look like. Billy fits right in, even as he’s almost glaring an answer out of Steve, his cropped blond curls a sleep-mussed mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t.” He admits with a sigh, eyes settling on the man at his side. “I don’t remember anything from yesterday at all.” He thinks panic should be spreading through him like a blazing Californian forest fire in the dead of summer, but all he feels is an eerie sort of calm, like the quiet before a storm. Steve sucks in a deep breath and tries to shake off the tingling at the back of his neck, the tiny spark of nerves that makes him want to scratch at the spot with his blunt fingernails until the skin is raw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s Sunday. Maxine said you spent all of yesterday deep cleaning your apartment and not answering calls or messages.” Billy supplies. “Apparently, Henderson had a bitch fit that he couldn’t hang at your place or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve scrunches up his face as he racks his brain for any memories of steaming his floors with his beloved Bissell or scrubbing the bathroom tiles and comes up blank. He blinks vacantly, licking his lips. “I still can’t-” his voice cracks and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, there’s the panic starting to kick in. He feels sick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, shit. Calm down, we’ll figure this out.” Billy’s saying. A warm, calloused palm drags over his shoulder and settles at his wrist, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing, the pressure grounding him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you find me last night? Where was I? What was I doing?” The words fly out of his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s gaze shifts to somewhere behind Steve, his expression becoming pained. For one very brief moment, Steve thinks he’d been doing something fucking outrageous and is about to truly have a meltdown when an amused smile slowly tugs at the younger’s pink lips. He almost looks fond. Steve swallows hard. “So, hear me out here. This might sound kind of weird? Kind of stalkery? But like, I was cruising along your street and just happened to look out the car when I passed your building and saw you sitting on the front steps like a fuckin’ weirdo. I honked and called out to you but you didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge me. Thought you were being prissy or something so I parked and got out but it was like you were in another zone or whatever.” Billy waves the hand that had been gripping Steve before settling it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you even know where I live?” Because Steve is an idiot, that’s the only thing he can focus on. Maybe he’s doing that thing again, living in denial or whatever Nance calls it, where if he pretends hard enough, it’ll be like nothing actually happened and it was just residual memories of a bad dream or something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, Steve?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs. Billy scoffs, mutters a quiet, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘un-fucking-believable’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>before answering. “Maxine. Also, you’ve told me where you live only like a million times. It’s not hard to find your place, man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods, it’s a solid answer. He really does love his apartment complex. “Okay, so what happened after you found me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I kept trying to call you, shook you a few times. It was like you were having a fever dream or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I think I remember that.” Steve frowns. “I was hot all over, feeling sick. I remembered seeing you but not really </span>
  <em>
    <span>seeing</span>
  </em>
  <span> you? I knew it was you because of your hair and voice but I couldn’t see your face. Everything was blurry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This happens often?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s never happened before. And I feel fucking fantastic now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Billy’s smile turns treacherous, leery, eyebrows waggling as his tongue slips out of his mouth to lick over his lips like the fucking prude he is. “I make you feel good, baby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus fuck.” Steve rasps, feeling his cheeks burn at the implication, at Billy calling him </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Shut the fuck up, Hargrove, you heathen.” He sits up and rolls his shoulders, shaking the stirring of arousal from his bones. “What time is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s almost ten. Hungry?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Starving, actually.” Did he even eat yesterday? Brunch is in order and even though the anxiety hasn’t completely left him, he feels like he could swallow an entire fucking cow if given the chance. “You cook for all the girls and guys you bring home?” He teases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy laughs, shaking his head as he slides off the bed, the muscles in his thighs and back tensing deliciously. He looks over his shoulder at Steve, eyes bright. “Only the pretty ones.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come up with me?” Steve asks bravely. He’s been dreading the return to his apartment, had stretched out his stay at Billy’s for as long as he possibly could. Billy initially allowed it, indulged him even, but around four, his patience had run out and he started getting snarky about Steve taking up his time when he had work the next day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you serious right now?” Billy grits, jaw clenched as he peers at the time on his phone. When Steve continues to stare at him with his sad eyes, the ones he knows everyone is a sucker for, Billy lets out a string of expletives and switches off the car, making his exit from the vehicle as wild and angry as possible. Steve smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t hold Billy’s hand on the way up no matter how much he wants to, but he does give him the code to his place, lets Billy punch it in while he stands behind the younger, peering over his shoulder like a frightened child. The door clicks open and they enter. Steve immediately hits the switches, floods the living area in artificial light despite the evening sun peeking through the half-drawn blinds. His apartment is spotless. It smells earthy and calming like the Yankee Candle El had given him for Christmas last year, and when he walks further into the room, he sees it sat in the middle of the coffee table, uncovered, clearly recently used but unlit. At least he had the presence of mind to extinguish the flame before - doing whatever it was that he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want me to check out the rest of the place?” Billy gestures, surveying the space with his regular intensity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be my guest.” Steve waves him off, lets him go exploring. It’s not like he has anything to hide. There’s his modest bedroom and a tiny guest bedroom next to the bathroom that doubles as a makeshift office. At the very end of the hall is a small closet which holds all of his cleaning supplies and linens. Steve checks the kitchen, is pleased when he discovers his fridge has been cleaned out, the countertops and sink spotless, and the trash empty. He’s sipping on a glass of water when Billy returns, shrugging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nada.” He says. “You’re in the clear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it really was a fever dream?” He ponders, staring up at the off-white ceiling. He’s going to have to repaint it soon but knows that he’ll resort to Home Advisor for someone who can actually get the job done without spilling paint everywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Billy settles at his side, their arms pressed together. “You okay now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really.” Steve admits, setting the half-filled glass in the sink. “I’ll talk to Will about it later. He’s really into all that stuff.” He explains, like Billy will understand that </span>
  <em>
    <span>stuff</span>
  </em>
  <span> refers to parallel planes of existence, healing stones and cosmic purpose or whatever e-boy-goth-tumblr aesthetic he has going on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Billy mutters like he doesn’t really care. “Well, this was all nice and whatnot but I gotta run. I’m gonna be late for gym and Tyrone will kill me. Call me if anything else weird happens, ‘kay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. Thanks Billy.” He says. The man smiles and waves him off as he leaves. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve heard of cases like that before.” Will explains, thin, delicate fingers wrapped around his reusable Starbucks mug because he’s also an environmental junkie. Steve has to lean over the table to hear him over the general chatter of the shop and the hissing of coffee machines spitting out freshly ground espresso. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?” Steve presses, eyebrows raised. It’s been four days since the incident. Steve hadn’t been able to sleep on the first two nights, too paranoid about slipping again. He’d kept Billy updated over Messenger on the happenings and by the third night, was able to catch a few hours after work and a couple more between the classes he taught at the community college. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Will hesitates, wide eyes glancing around the cafe like he’s about to spill top-secret government information. “It’s usually associated with fate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that was fucking anti-climatic. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fate?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Steve snorts. What bullshit. “Explain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Basically, we all have our destinies written out for us. We can change our fates based on what decisions we make but some things are written in stone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Will points a finger at him, “have been messing with your destiny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How the fuck am I doing that?” Steve grouses. He doesn’t even believe in that shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will sighs. “You haven’t been taking the path chosen for you. Remember when I read your tarot cards a couple of months ago?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs. He’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>Very Drunk </span>
  </em>
  <span>that night, body singing with the tequila flowing through his veins. The party had gathered at Mike’s and El’s for their monthly meet-up and it was his one chance to let loose for a night and not have to worry about any consequences. He remembers Billy shoving a cup of freshly brewed Maxwell House in his palms the next morning when he finally mopped himself off the living room floor, hungover and head pounding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, when I read your tarots, I told you about a budding romance that had been a long time coming and you sort of freaked out. Like, you got all defensive and screamed every time Billy came near you. You’ve been doing it subconsciously ever since without even knowing why and it seems like your fate has gotten tired of waiting for you to grow a pair and decided to make the move for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What the fuck. What in the actual fucking fuck? Steve feels hot and cold all over, coffee gurgling uncomfortably in his stomach. “So you’re saying Billy and I…” he trails off, unable to finish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will nods. “Yep. If I’m being honest here, everyone’s kind of annoyed that you two are still flirting the whole Pride and Prejudice way - six feet apart and whatever.” He grins when Steve’s lips curl in disgust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, fuck you. I thought you were the nicest in the group.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am. Would you have preferred Dustin explaining this to you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve cringes. “Nope. Nah. You’re fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought so.” The younger laughs. “So it’s safe to say that it was sort of a fever dream state that you’d slipped into. Your brain shut down so your fate could take its natural course.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that mean that Billy likes me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I can’t say for certain, and even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. That’s for you to find out.” Somehow, he knows the answer to that, thinks he's known for a while now</span>
  <span> but has been stubbornly running away from it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.” Steve deadpans. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The next time Steve finds himself at Billy’s apartment, it’s because he was invited over. He toes off his shoes near the entrance and follows Billy into the kitchen, setting down the takeout he’d grabbed from the Indian restaurant between their places. “Smells good.” Billy says, pulling two cans of beer from the fridge and handing Steve a Corona Lite. He grins. Billy had gotten him his favourite beer even after ribbing Steve about it being shitty, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘real men only drink the hard stuff, Harrington’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They settle on the couch and Steve queues </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Fresh Prince</span>
  </em>
  <span> on Netflix. They’d started watching while shovelling bites of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon into their mouths that morning two weeks ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Billy says when he’s sopped up the last bit of butter chicken sauce with naan and shoved it into his mouth, “You said you had to tell me something?” He finishes his beer and belches loudly, patting his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve grimaces and rolls his eyes when Billy winks at him. “Neanderthal.” He huffs. “I spoke to Will about the thing that happened.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did baby Byers say?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something about me messing with my destiny. He said I kept subconsciously messing up a part of my life that’s supposed to happen, putting it off, and fate decided to take over. Basically, it shut down my brain and body so I could end up where I needed to be.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy scrunches up his nose, lips twisting. “And where the fuck was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With me? You mean, you fucking koala hugging the shit outta me all night and chewing on my shoulder like a teething toddler?” He sneers though he’s grinning softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve feels his cheeks flush at the accusation. “Shut up. Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shrugs casually. “So.” He says after a beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Steve parrots, running a hand through his hair nervously. God, he hasn’t been in the dating game in fucking years, too consumed by running away from his feelings for Billy fucking Hargrove. He’s pretty much lost all of his charm. “Uh, do you like me?” He hedges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is this, sixth grade?” Billy snorts. “Do I have to tick yes or no, too? I think the question here, pretty boy, is do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> like me? You’re the one who’s been running away and shit. For two fucking years, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve visibly cringes. In the background, he hears Uncle Phil exclaim something and then the laugh track play. “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s, uh, complicated I guess. But yeah, I do like you. A lot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Billy asks. He’s still smiling warmly, eyes bright and strangely gentle under the yellow lighting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” Steve answers more confidently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I like you too.” Billy responds sliding over to where Steve’s seated. He settles an arm on his elbow, gently tugging him forward until their lips meet in a sweet, slow kiss. Billy’s lips are warm, tastes like spices and butter and the slightly sour undertone of fermented barley, but it’s perfect and Steve finds himself melting into it, shaking the grip on his arm to wrap them around Billy’s neck, deepening the kiss. When Billy’s tongue slips past his lips, something in Steve is knocked loose, rattles violently beneath his ribcage, a surge of electricity running from his head to his toes and shooting right back up. He moans and pulls away, eyes wide, fingers gripping Billy’s shirt with unyielding pressure. Billy’s cheeks are flushed, his lips puffy and red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay, baby?” He asks cautiously. Steve swallows hard and shakily presses his fingertips to his chest. He’s gasping like he just ran a marathon. For a moment he thought his heart had stopped beating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so. I just- something weird happened just now but I’m okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?” Billy cups his cheeks, thumb brushing over the heated apples of them with a tenderness that has Steve sinking into the touch, body sagging forward and eyes slipping shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm.” He hums. It feels like home. He knows he’s not lying when he says, “I am.” </span>
</p>
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